


suspension of hostilities

by jdphoenix



Series: retreat [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s02e18 The Frenemy of My Enemy, F/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:21:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23086189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: Jemma's choices catch up with her.
Relationships: Jemma Simmons/Grant Ward
Series: retreat [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659208
Comments: 12
Kudos: 72





	suspension of hostilities

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to 'tactical retreat.' As that fic's nearly four years old, I recommend a refresher if you've forgotten it or a look if you never did. You will pretty definitely be confused without it for context.

It’s well into morning and Jemma’s been up for some time already—figuratively speaking, of course. Literally she’s very much down, too cozy in her sleep-warmed sheets with the bright sun streaming through the curtains to even consider getting up. She hasn’t yet adjusted to their last time change and, as the man they came here to see had the bad manners to die and leave them aimless, she hasn’t yet found a reason to conform.

Heavy boots approaching the door remind her precisely why it’s been so hard to motivate herself. Grant, who never has any trouble jumping time zones, has made a habit of getting up early to train and then returning later to bring her a breakfast in bed which often goes cold before she can get to it. Looking forward to another stale slice of toast, she rolls over, sweeping the blankets away as she pushes herself up on her elbows. The image she so carefully crafts is utterly wasted on Mike Peterson.

“Get-” He stalls, either due to his own surprise or her cry of shock. “Get up.”

“Mike!” she gasps. He hasn’t bothered to look away; she would have thought better of him.

She can hear Grant yelling from down the hall, but is rather more concerned with snatching up her blanket to cover herself. It doesn’t take a genius to realize what this is. Either Mike is here for revenge on Grant or he’s here on orders from Coulson. Or both. Her stomach clenches painfully. She’s always known it was only a matter of time before they crossed the team’s path—in fact they did back in Texas, but that was only Grant and he spared Jemma most of the details—and she’s done a decent job of ignoring that particular knife hanging over their heads.

Mike’s jaw works. “Get. Up,” he repeats, the fingers of his cybernetic arm twitching.

She’s spent enough time among dangerous characters lately not to be cowed. She arches one eyebrow, waiting for him to remove himself. After a long staring contest, Mike blinks first. And keeps his eyes closed.

“Really?” She’s well aware he can still see.

“I can’t see anything I won’t see through your clothes. Hurry up.”

She sighs dramatically and swings her legs over the side of the bed. “I’m on my way, love!” she calls, as Grant is still protesting. From the sounds of it there’s at least one other party present. Not much of a surprise. Mike is hardly foolish enough to leave Grant unattended and it’s not as though it would be difficult to find someone else who might be willing to join his crusade-or-mission.

She takes her time choosing her outfit—this bra provides more support for running from a hail of gunfire, but _this_ one won’t suffer should the day result in an unexpected swim—and enjoys Mike’s every aggravated sigh. That’s half of why she dallies, but her other reason is more practical. Every second she wastes is more time for Grant to come up with a plan or, better yet, break free and ready to take Mike by surprise.

When she’s settling on the end of the bed—she wonders if she could justify making it before leaving, it does so irk her to leave it a mess—to pull on her shoes, Mike surprises her by bringing her a pair of sneakers.

“Why him?” he asks softly. “Why Ward?” Though Mike tries to appear aloof and unattached in most scenarios, it doesn’t work with her. That spinal surgery she did on him before her undercover mission last year required he be put under and the hazy journey back to consciousness made it clear the kind, caring Mike Peterson she first knew is still in there somewhere. “You of all people know what he did.”

She lets herself see the scars and the implants, the violations Centipede made of his person which have torn him away from the son he tried so desperately to keep. Grant was complicit in that. He may not have known—and Jemma believes him when he claims not to have—the full extent of what was to be done to Mike, but he knew it was happening to _people._ That he happened to know one individual beforehand hardly lessens his crimes.

Though it does make them more personal, less forgivable. Every lie, every manipulation, every stolen secret, every murder he ever committed against the team, she can see them all in Mike’s eyes. She’s made herself a part of that by following him out of the base that day, made herself guilty right alongside him.

She takes the shoes and busies herself undoing the knots. “I thought the last time I saw you that it was sad, you choosing to work alone. It must be difficult, not having anyone to rely on or even just talk to at the end of the day. I carried that every day I was undercover. I didn’t realize until I was back that while I was busy hating the solitude, it was becoming familiar, comfortable. It didn’t help that while I had a job to return to, my old position on the team was gone. Every role I had filled—Fitz’s friend, Skye’s confidant—had all been taken up by someone new in my time away.” She stands, brushing at the wrinkles in Grant’s t-shirt. It’s overlarge, but it smells like him and makes her feel stronger. “They didn’t want me anymore,” she tells Mike, “so I gave them what they wanted. Grant simply provided the opportunity.”

She walks out, leaving Mike to follow as he chooses. She sees right away she was correct in assuming he didn’t come alone. Hunter is sulking in front of the TV and throwing wrathful glances in the direction of the sofa. Whatever Grant’s saying—so he’s conscious, that’s always a good sign—Jemma can’t hear it from around the corner, but it’s certainly getting under Hunter’s skin.

In answer he smiles cruelly. “Yeah, enjoy the memory while it lasts.”

When she rounds the corner and can finally see just what she’s dealing with, she discovers this mission is quite a bit more serious than she thought.

“Sir,” she says.

“Simmons.” Coulson stands as she enters, leaving Grant—who looks even more put out than Hunter—alone on the sofa. He must be uncomfortable with one arm raised to accommodate the cuffs holding him to that ugly light fixture. (She’s always hated it and can’t say she’s sorry to see he’s nearly torn it free of the wall.) And then there’s the final and even more unexpected of the unexpected guests.

“Fitz.”

He’s sitting in the recliner, gripping the arms so tightly it’s a wonder he hasn’t torn into the upholstery yet. She can see right away he’s improved. She might be tempted to say it’s merely anger sharpening his focus, but as his anger was directed at her the last time they met, she’s aware that isn’t the case. Then, the anger made him worse. She could see him regressing before her very eyes, losing his words and devolving into nervous tics. Now he sits still, controlled.

“Jemma,” he says, straightening in his seat. His eyes sweep over her. “Did he hurt you?” he asks at the same moment Grant does.

She hesitates just a moment between them and then crosses the room to Grant’s side. No one stops her. No one even moves.

“I’m fine, love. But you’re not.” There’s a cut above his eye and a tightness around it that promises a bruise is to come. “There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom.”

When they all continue to impersonate statues she looks to Coulson for support. “What am I going to do?” Honestly, it’s a first aid kit, not a bomb.

He gives Mike a reluctant a nod and after a brief, audible search, he returns. Before he hands her the kit, however, he opens it and removes the gun from inside. She doesn’t know why he gives her such a look, it’s not as though she didn’t know the weight would give it away or that she needs the kit any less.

A tense silence reigns while she works. The motions are mindless—clean the wound, apply butterfly bandages—and allow her ample headspace to consider the possibilities.

Grant’s alive. That’s a positive. As every single person in this room has previously expressed a desire to see him dead, they can only be refraining for a reason.

Their presence here can’t be opportunistic either. The Playground is an ocean away and the Hydra facility she and Grant came here for has been abandoned for weeks at least. This was a special trip.

“You’re shaking,” Grant says softly. His uncuffed hand is resting at the small of her back, providing some much needed warmth.

“Coulson is aiming a gun at us,” she says, well aware everyone in the room can hear her teasing.

“Me,” Grant corrects. She doesn’t see how that’s better. He’s barely recovered from the _last_ time a member of their old team shot him.

“Simmons,” Coulson says again. He seems uncertain, as though her presence has thrown him off. She has no idea why it should, she hasn’t made any secret of where she’s been. “Are you-” He searches her with his eyes much the same way Fitz did, looking for a question as much as an answer. “Are you all right?”

Fitz stands so swiftly the recliner rocks violently in his absence. He stomps towards the door, only to turn back and pace in increasingly smaller circles until Hunter catches him by the shoulder and whispers soft words to him.

“I’m fine,” Jemma says firmly.

“Bullshit!”

Hunter moves to catch Fitz again, this time in a more restraining hold.

“I told you,” Fitz continues, still struggling against Hunter, who’s yelling at him to calm down. “You can _see_ you can’t trust him, it’s all over her-”

“Fitz,” Coulson says sharply.

“He _brainwashed_ her.”

“Fitz!” Jemma snaps.

Fitz’s angry expression goes slack and pale. He didn’t expect her to address him so directly, that much is obvious—and perhaps part of the problem. She’s been ignoring all of them out of spite and can see how, with such an assumption, it would appear she was focusing on Grant because she had been programmed to care only for his needs.

She sits again, smoothing her hands over her jeans as if it were a skirt. “I am not brainwashed,” she says to Coulson, forcing her voice to remain level. “I _chose_ to go with Grant.”

“No-” Fitz says.

Just like that her control snaps. “Just like I chose to go undercover,” she says to him. “It was _my_ choice.” Hunter is still holding him back and she can’t help that her eyes meet his over Fitz’s shoulder anymore than she can help saying, “I’d think you would be grateful; after all, you’re better off with me gone.” She can see on Hunter’s face her intended blow lands. As does Grant’s unintended one as he wraps his arm around her waist in silent support. He knows every word she heard the team say about her that fateful day and has been kind enough not to add to her shame by telling her those only he heard. She squeezes his knee, grateful for his presence.

She returns her attention to Coulson, who looks pained but has at least lowered the gun. “I’m sorry to have worried you. I know it was a mistake, playing into the hands of the enemy-”

“Hey,” Grant says.

She twists to regard him fondly. “You cannot honestly tell me you brought me along for my benefit.”

“He can’t honestly tell you anything,” Hunter mutters.

“So I had selfish motives,” Grant says, ignoring him. “That doesn’t mean I was self-centered. Whitehall put a price on my head too, you know.”

“And that was a brand new experience for you,” she says, voice dripping mockery. He doesn’t rise to her bait.

“You needed an out. I gave you one. You benefit.”

“I did,” she admits, “and I’m grateful, but I let you play me and I’m smarter than that.”

“Because you wanted to go,” Grant says as though she’s just made his point for him. Perhaps she has, but this isn’t a discussion they need to be having right now.

Luckily Coulson seems to think the same. Looking older than she’s seen him since the day he sent her off to Hydra, he says, “I think we’re losing track of why we’re here.” He looks to Grant. “We have a deal?”

Grant’s hand tightens on her hip. Whatever deal has been brokered while she was getting ready, he’s clearly unhappy with it.

She twists to face him. “I think you should.”

She can feel Coulson’s shock just as well as she can see Grant’s.

“You don’t even know what he wants,” Grant says. Oh, it must be very bad to put that look on his face.

“He needs your help with whatever mess they’re in.” Even ignoring that half the team is missing entirely, she can’t imagine Coulson brought Fitz within a thousand miles of her entirely willingly and it must have been something truly dire for Mike to have been brought in. “And I rather think you owe the team that at least, after all you’ve done to them.”

A pout begins to form on his lips and in that little wrinkle between his eyebrows. He likes to paint himself as the victim, even while he’s attempting to own up for his actions. It’s a rather impressive balancing act and one of those quirks she loves so dearly about him, but it won’t win him any points here.

She turns her back on him again, hoping that will wipe the look off his face before the rest of them can truly grasp it. “There will have to be rules.”

“There will,” Coulson says slowly. She’s sure he and Grant already discussed this but she has some stipulations of her own and if they are repeated, all the better.

“Grant won’t shoot or maim any of the team but I’m afraid his verbal barbs will be unrestrained.” That loosens up the hand on her hip. She knows how much Grant hated playing his agent of SHIELD role and will not see him boxed into it again—besides, if he were to try it would only come off as disingenuous.

“All right,” Coulson says, a smile creeping in at the corners of his eyes.

“And no one is allowed to shoot or otherwise physically harm him.”

Hunter makes a disapproving sound which Jemma decides requires an answer.

“May beat him, Fitz suffocated him, Mike gave him a heart attack, and Skye _shot_ him.” She struggles with her voice on that last. She can’t help feeling some guilt for it as he only went on that mission, was only working for that particular head of Hydra, because of her. She’d thought perhaps she’d finally found a branch of Hydra that wasn’t as morally corrupt as the rest, enough she could pinch her nose and bear it. So she agreed to two weeks. It took half that for Grant to cross paths with the team in the field and be shot three times in return for aiding Skye’s path to safety.

“The outcome wasn’t so bad,” Grant says. His thumb sweeps over the bruise he left on her hip last night and she swats at his chest, precisely where the scars are. He’s thinking that if it weren’t for Skye shooting him, they wouldn’t be dating now, and she’d rather he not inform the team of that fact.

“Unless you or Trip want to get yours in,” she continues, keeping her focus on Coulson rather than the shameless man curled around her back, “I think we can call it even.”

There is more than one note of disagreement to that, but none come from Coulson.

“Anything else?” he asks. It’s not a refusal and she lets that buoy her optimism.

She takes Grant’s hand from her hip, lacing their fingers to eat up some of her nervous energy. “Well, I was hoping…”

“Yes?”

“That you might take me back as well,” she says, all in a rush. “Permanently. I know I betrayed you and I’ll understand if you don’t feel you can forgive me, but it’s become increasingly obvious that while I needed distance from SHIELD, that doesn’t make me any better suited for Hydra.”

“Jem,” Grant says, tugging at her. She knows he has plans. He’s promised her that Hydra isn’t defeated so easily and they’ll soon find another to attempt joining, but it’s been _months_ of searching and interviews and trial runs. And with SHIELD so recently decimating their forces, she’s sure whatever remains will be worse than ever.

“You can’t tell me you’re happy with the way things have been,” she tells him. “The last head we spoke to, you said was so incompetent he had to be a SHIELD agent wearing a photostatic veil.” He smiles. Not at the reminder of what he said, she knows, but at the memory of what came after. “You could shoot as many Hydra agents as you like if you worked for SHIELD,” she teases before turning her smile on Coulson. “And _you_ would have a previously corrupt agent to do all those nasty but necessary things you’d rather not. Everyone wins.”

Coulson ruminates on that for a long minute while Jemma’s heart races and Grant’s hand tightens around hers. “I think,” he says finally, “we should talk. Privately.”

“You’re not seriously thinking-” Hunter says at the same moment Fitz yells, “What about Ta-”

Coulson holds up a hand, cutting them both off. “Just me and Simmons.” He meets her eyes. “Is there somewhere we could go?”

“The- the bedroom,” she says, feeling somewhat like a child who’s just been singled out for punishment.

She has some trouble extracting herself from Grant’s hold, but a reassuring smile and a whispered order that she scream if she needs help see him satisfied. She leads the way down the hall and, as soon as the bedroom comes into view she recalls the unmade bed. It will provide her with the perfect opportunity to busy herself while Coulson says … whatever he intends to say.

But no sooner has the door closed behind him than Coulson is catching her arm and pulling her back into a warm embrace. For a moment she’s shocked into stillness, helpless to do anything other than be held, but as seconds tick by the comforting weight of Coulson’s arms around her settles into her skin and she finds herself returning the hug.

When he releases her, it’s only so that he can catch her by the shoulders and better look at her. “You’re really all right? He hasn’t hurt you? Didn’t force you to come with him?”

She shakes her head and then realizes that might be misinterpreted. “No, I’m fine. Grant’s- he’s protected me.” She never would have survived without him.

He nods, seeming to accept her word for it, which is a victory in itself. “And you love him.”

It isn’t quite a question but she answers it anyway. “I do. I didn’t intend on that outcome but…”

It was only the two of them for so long and she’s afraid she didn’t do as well burying her old crush as she’d hoped. It was easy to fall for him, easier still to let him love her when she felt so alone and abandoned.

“It’s all right. No one’s judging you for that.” He doesn’t need her incredulous expression to second guess his words. “They will, but it’s still all right. I think … you’ve been good for him. And he’s been good for you.”

He steps back, the better to look her up and down, as if the past six months are written on her body.

“I’m sorry that you felt you had to do this. Ward told us-” He shakes himself. “It doesn’t matter. I’d hoped it was a lie but I can see it wasn’t. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you after.” After she returned from being undercover, he means.

“You had SHIELD to run. I was just one agent.”

When she tries to look away he says, “Hey. You’re _not_. You matter, Jemma. To me and to everyone on this team. That’s why it’s gonna take some time for them to accept this arrangement you’ve set your heart on. None of them like Ward too much and most of them have convinced themselves you were brainwashed, either before or after he kidnapped you.”

She rolls her eyes at that ridiculous assumption and gives it all the attention it deserves. “So you’ll take us back? Both of us?”

“You? Without question.” He lets that reassurance warm her a moment before adding, “But Ward? It’s gonna be a hard sell,” he admits. She imagines it will. May and Skye—wherever they are—will both have quite a few things to say about it. A mischievous twinkle shines in his eye. “But with you as part of the package, I think I can convince them.”

She’s not so sure about that. No one out there seemed too keen on her presence. But Coulson is the director and if she’s going to be returning to SHIELD, she must learn to trust his authority again. Still, there are details yet to be ironed out.

“No harming Grant or allowing him to come to harm via a third party?” she asks and Coulson is shaking his head before she even finishes. “And no TAHITI?”

That gives him pause. It wasn’t hard to put together Hunter’s earlier threat with Fitz’s aborted question. She meets his eyes steadily, daring him to— _hoping_ he will—deny her. 

He looks old when he answers. Old and sad. “I thought it would be the best thing for him. Not a perfect solution, but it would give him a second chance, a fresh start.” His smile returns and, though he still looks old, it no longer seems to pain him. “I didn’t expect him to have already found one.”

The praise warms her cheeks and she’s happy to discover that when she feels compelled to hide in the mundane task of making the bed, it’s for entirely painless reasons.

Her heart pounds while she tucks the corners. Six months of visiting Hydra after Hydra and she’s never felt more like she’s walking back into the lion’s den. But she’ll have her work, work she’ll finally know she’s doing for the greater good once more, and she won’t be alone this time. That will be enough.


End file.
